I have no idea what’s going on anymore.

I’m living one impulse to the next much like my 20 month old (translation: 1 and 1/2 year old for those of you of the mindset that “parents nowadays need to cut the cord and stop counting their kids’ months like a prisoner of war counting days”).

For instance, the other day at Starbucks, the barista, contractually required to fill a down moment with trademark Starbucks friendliness, asked if people ever tell me that I look like the actor Murr-Murr Murr-Murr Murr.

Actor? I thought. Looks like I need to include mustache bleach on the “to do” list.

“I mean actress,” he said.

In this moment, it dawned on me that I had no frame of reference to know a recent celebrity’s name (I assume he referred to a celebrity and not some actress he knew from the car wash).

“Who that?” I grunted.

“She was in Murr Murr Murr.

Here again I was forced to guess it was some sort of movie he spoke of, and I didn’t know that movie either. My pre-coffee brain, detecting only murrmurs, was about to overload.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I said in such a way, avoiding his eyes and looking over the cookies on the counter, that he probably thought I was Murr-Murr from Murr Murr Murr, and I was simply trying to remain anonymous on my summer jaunt through his little mountain town.

What happened to the celebs I used to look like? Have they died? I have no idea.

Another thing I didn’t know was that Adele was pregnant and had a baby and that baby is now out and about, being spotted at zoo’s and such with his mom sporting a fabulous mom-hair mess of a bun plop square on top her head.

I heard about it first on my main local radio station, the one that plays just enough 90’s grunge rock to keep me pacified. The DJ complained how Adele won all these Grammys and then went MIA because she had a baby.

It surely could have been my own interpretation, but the DJ sounded a little miffed with Adele’s baby and at Adele for letting something as insignificant as parenting get between her and the studio.

Could she not afford nannies? Or a bun-stylist?

Don’t get me wrong, I love Adele’s music and want more too, but now even more than her fabulous ballads I love Adele the person and can’t help but admire her. Especially after reading how that poor songbird feels like she doesn’t even know what’s cool anymore because she’s just been singing nursery rhymes.

That’s ME! I don’t know what’s cool anymore either, Adele! We have so much in common!

If only the world knew how far I’ve come to be this un-cool. With a barely a few lyrics of “Rock-a-Bye Baby” (most of the ending fabricated in an ongoing attempt to find the poetic meaning behind a baby dangling in a tree) in my repertoire before becoming a mom, I’m now like an iPod that can go eight days without repeating a single nursery rhyme or animal noise.

It edifies me to know that someone as badass as Adele is also floored by motherhood and has let her net-worth and cool-stock plummet in exchange for just being a mom. A plain old ordinary mom. A title that anyone with a functioning vagina and womb can have. There’s nothing special about being a mom, nothing that sets you apart or makes you a superstar.

I like that she’s chosen this lifestyle and even admits to feeling out of the loop because of it. As a SAHM, the out-of-the-loop-ness and the isolation I sometimes feel can be intense.

There are days I find myself shutting out from the world, just thinking fuck you guys .

Fuck you my kid is squirming at the checkout. He’s a kid. He squirms. Sorry I forgot my tranquilizer darts! Oh here, I found one, it’s my breast. Yes, I’m still breastfeeding. Fuck you.

And after spending the day deep in conversation about whether or not a certain 2 foot non-English-speaking someone wants to touch the spider while batting down undulating flames of clutter, laundry, dishes, diapers, the last thing I want to do is try to negotiate an adult conversation. And the less I see people, the less I know what’s going on, and the less I want to see people. A vicious cycle.

I’m no body language interpretation expert, BUT, from the looks of the tabloid shot of Adele at the zoo with baby and friends (without kids), I’m fairly certain Adele pays her single friends to play with her.

Until I have that sort of cash I’ll be keeping my cool factor on life support as I have been–by taking walks alone, pop diva mixes in my earbuds as I outwardly tap my fingers while inwardly fist pumping and chanting along with Ke$ha, “Let’s make the most of the night like we’re gonna die young!” (As long as it’s not too far past 9:30. In which case my toddler will out-energy me, securing the upper hand, and I really will die young(ish)).

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